


burns with a blue flame

by sixwhiteroses



Series: like a thunder [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Abstract, Ateez Answer, Dark Ateez, Dark San, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake x Real Ateez, Feelings Realization, Forbidden Love, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Secret Relationship, Woosan, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixwhiteroses/pseuds/sixwhiteroses
Summary: Wooyoung wouldn't call it love at first sight. He'd call it curiosity and the desire to know, maybe enhanced by the human nature, one that simply can't help but probe into everything slightly mysterious, unknown.San wouldn't call it love either. At least not initially. He'd surely call it hunger, a desire to own and ruin.But how can one ruin something so, so beautiful?
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: like a thunder [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032915
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	burns with a blue flame

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ATEEZ's Answer MV and that one tweet about Wooyoung and Dark San falling in love.

Wooyoung wouldn't call it love at first sight. He'd call it curiosity and the desire to know, maybe enhanced by the human nature, one that simply can't help but probe into everything slightly mysterious, unknown. To something forbidden - with the knowledge that the forbidden fruit is always tastier.

It flashed through his mind a couple of times before - through the glares and stabs of bitter adrenaline slithering up his limbs upon every single protruding stare from _him_.

It made Wooyoung feel vulnerable, in a thrilling way. Made him guiltily hot and still curious, uncontrollably wishing to get his hands on something so strictly out of limits.

He liked it, though. He knew he shouldn't. Hell, if only the others knew. He'd surely get a strong bite back for such an unthinkable desire.

There has always been an awareness, then - that he musn't do this, that the sting of betrayal he'd earn for everyone else, and above all, for himself, would whip him in the face.

But what else could he do? When every single time he saw him, every single time their eyes met over the table with the oddest of energies crackling between them, when the slightest stab of what he'd dare to categorize as feelings hit his heart, the euphoria was incomparably stronger.

And so, despite the guilt gnawing at his insides and morals grabbing him under the neck, he let himself fall. Let himself fall into something deliciously forbidden and illicit, tasting so sickeningly sweet of _love._

____________________________

San wouldn't call it love either. At least not initially.

Initially, he'd surely call it hunger, a desire to own and ruin. But in a tender way, almost like seeing a pretty flower bud and despite seeing how beautiful it is, somewhere in the corner of his heart, he finds a twisted urge to destroy it, to crush it, to stomp it.

He felt the same way with Wooyoung.

Tender, but in a messed up way. In something he'd call guilt if he'd dare to own up to his emotions, for the one he's worked so hard to admit was already biting through. Baby steps, right?

But, every time a desire disguised as scrutiny beamed from San's eyes as he looked him over head to toe, he allowed himself to sink in just a little bit deeper. Deeper, kept pretending it was under control.

He'd tell himself - he can do that. Can play with him a little. There's no one to stop him. They're here to fuck them up anyway, to ruin a part of them that was once normal. They were there to shine dark light - and San initially planned no less that that, perhaps to a have a bit of fun with it first.

But he never envisioned abandoning his plan altogether. Yet that was what he found himself doing once he managed to swallow his pride and admit he was falling.

After all, how could one ruin something so, so beautiful?

____________________________

It's not Wooyoung's habit to sneak around, to break the rules. Maybe that's why the pump of his heart is beating louder than ever, fired up by the sweet guilt. Maybe that's what makes it so enjoyable - to break the rules at least once.

Especially for such an occasion.

They meet halfway. Even from a distance, Wooyoung can tell he's conflicted. Unsure, tiptoeing.

Wooyoung is glad to see him, though. He's not sure when did the night get so deep. He's not sure when did the darkness get so thick. Maybe with San's arrival. Maybe with the veil of darkness surrounding his heart, Wooyoung muses, because there was the ever-present grey aura around the man he loves.

"Do they know?"

Comes the first question, habitual and practiced by repetition of their sweetly illicit meetings, repeated more than anything. _Do they know?_

"No."

San replies quieter than usual, eyes gliding up his lover's face. Caressing, in a twisted way. Loving, as loving as he can be.

Wooyoung wonders if San gets in trouble too. Their San would surely get in trouble - he's not so sure about this one. Not so sure about this one – the one wearing something devilish, the one he’s been told numerous times to deem the enemy. The one he _did_ deem the enemy for the longest time. But now, Wooyoung can see right through him. Sees something broken, yet as durable as steel. Wooyoung sees it in his eyes, some kind of pain, or an imitation of it.

"I kind of wish they did," San whispers as his hand slowly travels up the column of Wooyoung's neck, delivering a trickle of cold goosebumps down his body. It feels nice, Wooyoung remembers. Remembers how sinfully pleasant San's touch is, how it leaves him feeling more than anything, leaves him with a fire crackling in his chest and want coursing through his veins.

"Not all of us are on the evil side," Wooyoung notes, leaning his face into the touch of San's hand on his cheek, "not all of us enjoy being in trouble."

"Evil is relative," San breathes as he leans forward, just a shiver of air separating his lips from Wooyoung’s. "Am I evil?"

"Not to me, you're not," Wooyoung admits with a weak tug on his lips and breathes San in. Breathes his scent in, the essence of what it feels like when someone so wrong for you loves you so much.

"I missed you," San says, the pillows of his lips caressing Wooyoung's with but a pant between them. It's Wooyoung that finally closes the gap, feels a tingle erupt inside of his chest. It's so familiar yet always so intense, feels like the first time.

Every single swipe of San's tongue over his has Wooyoung feeling guilty in the most pleasurable way, tainted in the most loving way. Feels the tug on his bottom lip, feels the passion pushing San forward to grant him a nip anything but gentle.

_San is strange,_ Wooyoung thinks, just as his hand travels up to lay his hand over San's neck, stroking carefully. San loves like the night - tenderly yet wildly, with passion and a hint of darkness. With mystery and a bit of fear, adrenaline and unshielded energy. He leaves Wooyoung feeling like this every single time, and every single time, with every single reminder he shouldn't let himself go, he falls for him more.

"I love you, Wooyoung."

It's a butterfly whisper, barely noticeable. He's heard it before, he _knows_ , yet it comes as a surprise, leaving him breathless, on the edges of San's lips. It hurts, in a way. Hurts the way it carries through the air like a silent cry for help - like a confession that should remain unsaid, but San's nature never follows what should and should not be.

Wooyoung looks up at him; reverence sparkles in his eyes as he soaks in the shadows in San’s face.

"Why?"

It comes gently and tentatively, for it's the first time he's asked. But the curiosity has been there from the start, always close, always present. San chuckles. Just a small huff of air as his mouth twitches into a momentary smirk.

"Just because."

________________________

It’s quiet – lonesome, almost.

San rarely feels lonesome. He was never one to feel the urge to be accompanied. Maybe his little, sweet twin. Not him. Not with how sacrilegious his core really was, not with how deeply rotten he felt he would always be. He never let himself slip, always did the wrong for the kick of it.

It was not pretty when he fell in love. How could that be justified, now?

It was not pretty when he started feeling the desire to claw and bite, when the need to possess started tearing at him from the inside. It was pathetic, he decided, how his being was born from nothing but darkness, made to ruin, made to taint, yet here he is now.

In such a sharp contract, came _him_ – and San was done for, though with bitter reluctance to admit it initially.

But yes, he rarely feels lonesome. But when he does, he finds himself missing a pair of hands, illuminating like the sun on a gloomy day, going so starkly against his own nature that he just now began to find unsettlingly different from the man he loves.

It’s annoying.

And it’s truly beyond ugly, how the emotions leave him tied up and helpless each and every time, how he finds his body begging for a touch from _one_ person, one person he swore he would destroy the first, for he thought it would be most entertaining.

And now, here he is – the night is quiet. Dead quiet, soundless with but a whimper of the breeze carrying his thoughts.

He lifts his head into the sky and absently traces the north – it’s become a habit. He blinks back at the stars as the wind ruffles his hair, and he manages to think up an excuse for why he was not present with the others. He’s never felt out of place, to be fair. And doesn’t now, either.

He just feels so… _gentle_. Soft. Knowingly and willingly, he’s gone soft. Soft after a bright smile and a bright soul touched his heart ever so gently, with a stroke so benign it could almost bring tears to his eyes. And he wouldn’t deny the root of his true nature, no – wouldn’t deny that he was spawned from someone pretty and tender, someone that was supposed to keep his Wooyoung happy in an unforbidden way.

But there is no use thinking that now, is it? He scolds himself with a frown, eyes tracing the sky still.

Right. It’s _his_ Wooyoung. His now. His to keep and ruin, if he wants.

That’s what the others would tell him – go ahead, take him, have him, fuck him up. Fuck him up, if you want.

And it’s an immense blow for San to realize he _doesn’t_ want to. Doesn’t want to ruin him, doesn’t want to hurt him.

Wants to protect him, wants to hold him. Just him. He couldn’t care less about the rest – wouldn’t bat an eye in the worst case, might even still find it mildly enjoyable. One can’t deny their blood.

But not him. Not his Wooyoung, not the eyes that brought something that was not supposed to be there in the first place into San’s heart, one that he would swear with his foul existence he didn’t have before.

“San.”

It feels like music holding him close, like the touch of a peaceful memory petting his cheek. He turns around, swallowing the strangely bitter, warm light that fills his chest, shines through him and spills over his ribcage like lava, burns him from the inside. Burns, fills him up, and he can’t fight it. Can’t fight it, can’t stop – it’s tearing down his walls and his nature, holding him against a wall. He can never stop it when he sees _him_ , never escapes, _and never tries to_. For the first time, he’s helpless. Helpless to such a pathetic thing.

He doesn’t speak, only stands up to walk on to clutch, to hold, to caress. Wooyoung’s body falls into his like it was meant to be there, the warmth of his chest falls into San’s open arms like a puzzle and fills him, completes him, and suddenly all’s good. The burn in his chest subsides, turns into a pleasant buzz sending a delirious tingle through his limbs.

“Do they know?” San asks this time, yet doesn’t really want to know the answer. The line of his care has long been blurred, and he holds Wooyoung close, inhales his scent, like it’s the last time he’ll ever do so. And maybe it is.

“No.”

“I’m so scared.” He shouldn’t be. This isn’t his role, it’s not his nature to be _scared_.

“Me too.”

San feels a hand slide into his hair; Wooyoung likes touching him there. It’s comforting, they both know that, hence why Wooyoung always does it. Always, even if subconsciously, he feels the need to comfort San take over, and they both know it.

They both know who’d be in more trouble if their endeavor was exposed, and they both know who’s more broken inside. They both know who’s more conflicted and in the need of a loving touch, in the need of another heart beating for theirs, because it can’t handle the pull alone.

San know it’s him. And at this point, running his hand down Wooyoung’s back to press him closer, to hold him as strong as he can, he is not afraid to admit it. It scares him – how at first, through half lidded eyes, he’d watch Wooyoung over the table, fingers swiping along his lips in a gesture of thought, of a lustful scrutiny, of hunger and interest. It’s so starkly different now – so different that he dares to think he’s the one that fell harder.

“You’re shaking,” Wooyoung notes as he feels San’s chin rest on his shoulder, true to his words quivering through all his body. He’s not sure why.

“I’m cold.”

Wooyoung lets out a melodious laugh, soft like silk caressing San’s skin, and pulls away. Puts his palms flat on the elder’s cheeks, locks their eyes. It’s a moment that doesn’t deserve breaking, and so they don’t.

San just think – thinks thoughts he is so deeply terrified of he wants to run, thoughts that suddenly have the eyes Wooyoung’s looking into glistening with unshed tears.

“What’s wrong?” Wooyoung’s voice switches from relaxed to rueful. “San. What’s wrong?”

“Us,” he replies, finally looking askance, meeting the blinking white eyes on the sky, “we’re wrong.”

“Why?”

“Just because.”

“Don’t say that.”

“We are.”

And all he can do, all he finds in himself through the shame and hurt, through the unfairness clawing through his skin, looking to bite its way out if it kills him, he rests his face into Wooyoung’s shoulder, and a single quake of a swallowed sob jerks his shoulders.

And Wooyoung stays quiet. Holds his embrace, keeps his arms around San’s cold shoulders like a pair of heavy wings laying on something he wants to protect. San finds this even more excruciating – how he was supposed to be the one to first ruin, then protect Wooyoung. Now, he’s the one that needs it. He’s the one that couldn’t bring himself to bite his feelings back, ones that were never meant to exist.

“I can’t be without you,” San says. It’s muffled, spoken through tears and held back by the cloth on Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“But I’m here,” Wooyoung reminds him gently. The strokes of his hand soften, soften beyond measure, and slide down to the small of San’s back, securing and warm.

“Then don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

“They won’t find out.”

“Alright.”

“Just don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

_______________________

Wooyoung was surprised to see that San really doesn’t match the image he had created of him. If he had to pick, his own dark self along with San’s were the scariest. The most carnal ones, ready to rip and take. Wooyoung often found fear biting chunks of his heart when he looked into the eyes of his _own self_ , born from something evil and fake inside of him.

With San, it was a mixture of this, and of pure want. Emotional, sensual, material. Wooyoung wanted him, wanted to kiss and bite and love, though it took time to fully come through, to fully break the dam of denial. It hurt at first, and hurt now too, but less.

Less than Wooyoung knew San was hurting.

“We should get out here,” Wooyoung hums one day. The fog slithers around their ankles in half-hearted swirls, lazy and light. Pale orange stripes cut the sky in half, chasing out the last of the stars, and Wooyoung finally notices San turning all his attention away from the sky – he has no more stars to watch. He likes watching the stars, Wooyoung knows that. It calms him down, gives him security, reassures him that he’s at a stable point and something in this life is consistent.

Wooyoung knows it’s because San is terrified of their love not being like that. Terrified that their love won’t be consistent and will not stay, for it ought not to. And Wooyoung is terrified too. He’s been self-cast to the role of the optimist, and does his duty diligently, but he is still so human towards San. Is still so scared. First scared of him, now scared of losing him.

“Get out where?” San replies mindlessly, his eyes glassy, as he turns to Wooyoung, and on an instinct, reaches for his hand.

“I don’t know.”

San is not usually all smiles – keeps a straight face, at times a twinge of worry and hurt flashing over it when his eyebrows furrow and eyes glimmer. But now, he smiles. Wooyoung thinks it’s a happy change; he smiles right back.

“We will get out one day,” Wooyoung says with reassurance floating in his voice, trying his best to be as much of a solace to San as looking at the stars is. He hopes he is – he wishes no more that to comfort him, to keep him loved.

San moves closer, then. Asserts the need for contact, for a touch, one that Wooyoung is more than willingly giving him in the next second. A string of caresses and strokes drags down the line of San’s body pressed up against Wooyoung’s, and a serene sighs escapes his lips.

A feathery kiss touches his nape as Wooyoung leans forward, and chills paint his back. He’s not so sure about the rightness of the move – but then again, are they right? Is anything really right? They don’t really deserve this in the first place, yet with their selfishness, they took it. San smirks for a bit, with something he’d nearly call pride. Because even if loving someone goes so harshly against his role, goes so strictly against his core, he was still being rotten. Selfish.

“Just because?”

“Just because.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel twenty pounds lighter after writing this. 
> 
> Also, as majority of atinys, i have no clue what half the shit in the ateez universe means, so i made my own shit. cheers
> 
> Follow my dumb ass on [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/cinnamonya2)


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